| She was young, she was pure, she was new, she was nice
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| She was fair, she was sweet, seventeen
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| He was old, he was vile, and no stranger to vice
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| He was base, he was bad, he was mean
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| He had slyly inveigled her up to his flat
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| To view his collection of stamps
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| And he said as he hastened to put out the cat
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| The wine, his cigar and the lamps:
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| You really have nothing to fear
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| I’m not trying to tempt you
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| That wouldn’t be right
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| You shouldn’t drink spirits at this time of night
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| It’s really much nicer than beer
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| I don’t care for sherry, one cannot drink stout
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| And port is a wine I can well do without…
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| It’s simply a case of chacun a son gout
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| Unaware of the wiles of the snake-in-the-grass
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| And the fate of the maiden who topes
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| She lowered her standards by raising her glass
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| Her courage, her eyes… and his hopes
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| She sipped it, she drank it, she drained it, she did!
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| He promptly refilled it again
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| And he said as he secretly carved one more notch
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| On the butt of his gold-headed cane:
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| I’ve got a small cask of it here
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| And once it’s been opened, you know it won’t keep
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| Do finish it up. |
| It will help you to sleep
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| It’s really an excellent year
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| Now if it were gin, you’d be wrong to say yes
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| The evil gin does would be hard to assess…
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| Besides it’s inclined to affect the prowess
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| Then there flashed through her mind what her mother had said
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| With her antepenultimate breath
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| «Oh my child, should you look on the wine that is red
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| Be prepared for a fate worse than death!»
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| She let go her glass with a shrill little cry
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| Crash! |
| Tinkle! |
| it fell to the floor;
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| When he asked, «What in Heaven?» |
| She made no reply
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| Up her mind, and a dash for the door
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| Rang out down the hall loud and clear
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| With a tremulous cry that was filled with despair
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| As she fought to take breath in the cool midnight air
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| Have some madeira, m’dear
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| The words seemed to ring in her ear
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| Until the next morning, she woke in her bed
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| With a smile on her lips and an ache in her head…
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| And a beard on her earlobe that tickled and said:
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| Have some madeira, m’dear! |